


HAIR! (Nope, Not The Musical)

by Two_Guns_And_A_Knife



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Guns_And_A_Knife/pseuds/Two_Guns_And_A_Knife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nope, not the musical. A strange little story about a lonely lonely man and his most amazing, if not intriguing, journey. Babe HEA. Cupcakes: you are warned. Theme Song: Burning Down the House by Talking Heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. The Talking Head

**HAIR!**

  
**(** **Nope, Not The Musical)**   


**1\. The Talking Head**

The night is hot and he's lonely. So lonely. The room is quiet and stuffy. He takes off all his clothes and turns on the AC. He lies down in his bed with a hand on his belly. There's a fire burning deep down within. He spreads his legs slightly apart. He closes his eyes. He listens to his heartbeat and breathing. He's tall, dark, movie star handsome, and single. He can feel the cool air on his naked hairy chest. And tonight, he's lonely. His hand moves downward slowly. He grows harder as he thinks of Stephanie. Her smile. Her eyes. Her lips. Her legs. Her breasts...He gives in to his thirst, lust, and desire. He's all alone inside his 2-story house. It's been 2 months now. No one will hear him moan. He grasps hold of his throbbing self and starts to—

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Joseph!" His right hand says in disgust, its squeaky voice a little muffled. "Why me? Why always me? Why the fuck do you have to do this to me? Why can't you be fucking left-handed for once, Joseph? Why?"

"Hey!" His left hand, in its deep growling voice, protests lividly. "Leave me out of this!"

"Look at me! Just fucking look at me!" His right hand screeches angrily. "Do you know how I fucking feel? Do you want to spend every fucking night of the rest of your fucking life like this?"

"Oh, suck it up, Cupcake." His left hand rolls its eyes and snorts. "Life is hard, get a helmet."

"COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE, YOU INCONSIDERATE BASTARD!" His right hand erupts in fury. Its hold of his manly organ tightens, spending a spur of heart-rending pain through his rigid naked body, making his eyes roll back into his head. "COME OVER HERE AND HAVE A TASTE OF THAT SOGGY WETNESS! COME OVER HERE AND FEEL THAT STICKY GOOEYNESS! COME OVER HERE AND—"

Joe Morelli passes out and faints in blissful darkness. His hands keep on fighting, through the night, oblivious to the whole universe, till dawn comes. The early morning sun shines through the window upon the naked police detective. His chest hair dances in the cool air like a sea of wheat. His lovely cozy 2-story house is quiet and not very neat. His t-shirt smells like ketchup. His shoes and socks smell like Limburger cheese. His eyelashes are long, his nose straight, his body lean and hairy. He indeed is nice-looking.

His worst nightmare has just begun.


	2. 2. Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?

**2\. Do You Really Want To Hurt Me?**

It must be a nightmare. It has to be. Yes, of course it is. Joe Morelli sits up in his bed and looks down at his hands. He's hungry. He's lonely. HIs hands look normal. He can't stand the sight of his morning wood. It doesn't look as magnificent as it usually does. It looks, in fact, a little bruised. He averts his eyes and exhales a sigh. He needs a long cold shower. He needs to brush his teeth. He also needs to read the paper on the toilet, and then wipe his—

Arrrrrrgh! He has no time for silly dreams. He has a job to do. He has a life to live. He has given up hope and now he's just sad. He will find someone else. He has faith in himself. He will be a great daddy. He gets out of bed and goes in his small bathroom. He turns on the shower and soaps himself. He dries himself and wraps the towel around his waist. He stands in front of the mirror and starts to shave. He hears the soft sinister snickers. He gapes and freezes. A tiny drop of blood falls down his chin. He has cut himself shaving.

"He will be a great daddy." A tiny little voice, dripping with sarcasm, whispers. "One day, someday, babe."

"A house. A dog. A good salary. God bless white picket fences." Another tiny little voice snorts.

"A bounch of sweet beautiful kids." A third tiny little voice chimes in.

"Three boys. Three girls." Says the fourth voice in a childlike tone. "All six of them."

"Dark smelly garage." The fifth voice bellows. "Hard bakery floor."

"Parsley, cheese, rosemary, garlic, and thyme." The sixth voice giggles.

"Pot roast. Pasta. Pizza." All the tiny little voices sing in chorus. "Dinner served at six."

Joe Morelli's eyes bulge in shock and terror as his rude cruel chest hairs proceed to laugh with glee. His blood rushes through his veins. His heart thumps in his ears. Everything is so real, yet so unreal. The universe darkens around him. He blinks back the dizziness. He looks himself in the mirror. He reflection raises a brow at him and lazily gives him an almost smile, Ranger style. The world is such a cold, lonely place. What has happened to his innocence? Is there a meaning to his life? Does his existence matter? Morelli closes his eyes and bursts into sobs. His eagle tattoo grumbles in disgust:

"Get a grip, Cupcake. Life ain't no fairytale."

No shit, Sherlock.

 


	3. 3. 8675309

**3\. 8675309**

He doesn't know how he managed to finish shaving and get dressed. He grabs the wheel of his blue SUV in a death grip. He's too afraid to look in the rear mirror. The sound of the morning traffic makes him want to puke. His left brow arches on its own, and then frowns.

"Do you think we are bat shit crazy, Joe? Do you think we should go find some help?" With a slight hint of worry the heavy brow asks in a deep pleasant voice.

"Valar Morghulis...Valar Dohaeris..." His other brow moans like a lonely ghost. "Winterfell..."

A car cuts in front of him. He steps on the brake. He desperately wants to curse a little, but he can't find his voice.

"New Yorker!" A lone nose hair spits.

"Tropic Thunder!" His chest hairs chorus.

"Jersey Shore!" Another nose hair giggles.

His hands burst out laughing, gasping for breath.

"What do you think, Joe? Joe? Hello?" Says his left brow with apparent concern. "Talk to me, Joe."

He can't stand this any more. He's a cop. He's a good man. So he molested Steph and a couple little girls in his dad's garage when he was 8 years old. What's so wrong with that? What's the big deal? He was just a little boy. He was curious. He was adventurous. Just like Manny being Manny, he was being a boy. Hell, Steph and the girls never said no. And he just wanted to know the differences between boys and girls.

"Pervert." A tiny little voice whispers.

"Shameless." Another echoes.

"Got away with murder." Curses a third.

Joe Morelli steps hard on the brake. His SUV stops in the middle of the crossroad, blocking the traffic. The car behind nearly crashes into him. The light changes. He has no strength or willpower to restart his car. Angry car horns all around him. Someone actually rolls down his car window and shouts: "Hey! What's your problem? Jerk!" But all he can hear is the tiny shrill, deep, sarcastic, genuine laughters. He feels like a caged endangered beast trapped inside a strange unfriendly world. There is no help. There is no hope. There is no escape. He is doomed. He is cursed. He has gone insane. None of this is real. Still he keeps hearing voices. His head is about to explode.

"Babe, duck and cover when it explodes *****." An unknown body part, with a barely there hint of an almost smile, says in Ranger's voice.

"My hero." Another unknown body part coos in Stephanie's voice.

"Geez. Get a room." His eagle tattoo grunts. His chest hairs start to giggle.

"Hey! Move your car! Asshole!" Another unhappy driver yells amid furious shouting and the sound of impatient horns.

And then all of a sudden the sun is too bright, the wind is too hot, and the whole universe is just too much for Joe Morelli's delicate soul. He gets out of his car, raises his arms first in the air and then covering his ears, and runs away screaming as if both Heaven and Hell are on fire.

"Are you okay, Joe?" His left brow keeps asking as he runs down a crowded street. "Do you think we need a shrink, Joe?"

Joe Morelli screams louder, and he never sees the 18-wheeler ******. "Ah, here we go again" is the last thing he hears.


	4. 4. Jessie's Girl

**4\. Jessie's Girl**

Darkness. Thick, merciless. Blissful silence. No one's talking. Is he breathing? He doesn't want to open his eyes. He feels peace. He feels no pain. The days when he was still a boy. The days when he was a popular kid. Bittersweet memories. The texture of an extra crispy cannoli. Time and light break apart. He lets himself fall and go with the flow. He has no excuse for what he did. He has to be faithful to who he is. He hears the water. He hears the wind. He hears the songs, the words, the sighs, and the tears. He hear the bright sunlight. He hears the starry nights. Blue ocean. Stephanie's eyes. The little girl. The pretty 16-years-old. The mad woman behind the wheel. Twisted. Unusual. Unhealthy. Abnormal. Pizza. Beer. Relationship. On and off. Long history. Strangers now. Sad. So sad. All the time. All these years. Wasted...

"All is cruel in love and war..."

"All is fair in love and war..."

"True Love shall prevail..."

"Behind every successful woman is herself..."

"You are a jerk, Joe."

He opens his eyes. He sees nothing, nothing at all. The tiny whispering voices. Inside his head. Inside his ears. Anywhere. Everywhere. No one's here. No one's there. He's alone. Absolutely totally alone. All by himself. He made a choice. She made a decision. He knows what her mother said. He knows how her father reacted. Did Ranger remain silent? He has no idea. Ranger. Danger. Poacher. Controversial man. Guns. Knives. Money. Power. Death. He remembers how Stephanie yelled. He knew he'd made a mistake. His regrets drove him insane. He tried to make amends. She yelled. He yelled. _This is what it sounds like. When doves cry.._.He said something he shouldn't have said. And she slapped him in his face. With all her strength.

"She wore a raspberry beret..."

"Little red corvette..."

"You need a love that's gonna last..."

"Prince. Prince. The half-blood prince..."

"You are scum, Morelli. Scum."

She slapped him in the face. He was so enraged. He couldn't think. He saw red. He raised his hand. That's when Ranger stepped out of the darkness and...and...

"It hurt like Hell, Joe. It hurt like Hell..."

"Yep, Joe. You have gone insane."

That's when Ranger stepped out of the darkness and broke his arm. And now he knows he's dead...

 


	5. 5. Don't Talk To Strangers

**5\. Don't Talk To Strangers**

The grey river flows by. He stands in the middle of the soundless wave feeling neglected and cold. He looks down at his hands. He can't see his feet. He hears sounds. He hears distant voices. He looks around but sees no one. His heart feels empty. His whole body feels dead. What exactly is the difference between Heaven, Earth, and Hell? His chest hairs dance in the invisible wind. He wonders if he truly has a soul.

"Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily..."

"Life is..."

"Life is..."

"Life is but a dream..."

He closes his eyes as he sings the familiar song. He knows he's no American Idol material but he always likes his voice. Sounds carry on and on and on here in this place and finally become whispering echoes. He kind of likes this calm loneliness. He tries hard not to think of the honking horn and the screeching sound of the brake. He tries not to think of the 18-wheeler. He doesn't see the Light. He doesn't feel the Pull. Does that mean he gets to linger as a restless soul? Can he go back as a ghost? People to possess. Places to haunt. Showing up in nightmares. Disappearing into walls. Sweet revenge. Perfect ending. He always wanted to visit the lion's den. He always wanted to see Stephanie and Ranger's bed. Dirty imaginations. Nasty thoughts. The crisp snap when the bone in his arm broke. The fear and relief in Stephanie's face. He's now a ghost. A lonely ghost. He had to go to hospital on his own. They left together. She grabbed Rex. She didn't pack a bag. She had clothes at his place. He had his arm around her waist. She walked out without a backward glance. It was a clean break. The bone healed. The hole remains. They are now on separate paths.

He lay on the floor watching them go. His head dizzy. His eyes teary. He'd lost both the battle and the war. His prize was gone. He lay there on the floor. He heard the powerful engine. He heard the silence that followed. He got up on his feet. He cradled his broken arm. He walked out of the apartment. He didn't bother to lock the door. He didn't really feel the pain. When the doctor asked him how he'd broken his arm, he simply said, "I fell."

"Tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies..." He sings under his breath, and laughs when he remembers he's not breathing anymore. He looks into the distance. He wishes he still has tears. The silence grows louder.

"Talk to me." He whispers. His voice sounds strangely hollow. He wants to sing another song.  ** _Somebody That I Used To Know_**? Perfect song. Suddenly he can't find his voice. His eyes are dry. His feet and hands are cold. He feels dead inside. He's officially dead. There's no light. There's no darkness. There's no one else. There's no way back...

"Nessun dorma..."

"Nessun dorma..."

"Tu pure, o, Principessa..."

"Nella tua fredda stanza..."

A smile breaks on his cold pale face as tiny little voices sound everywhere and he joins the singing. A beautiful song. A far away fairy tale. A bitter sweet ending. Death. Love. Victory. War.

"Somebody...I used to know..." It's the voice of his eagle! He takes a happy step forward and falls all the way down the black hole. His hands, feet, hairs, and unknown body parts and organs scream together. He's too happy to hear their voices.

He's grateful he's not alone...

 


	6. 6. Little Red Corvette

**6\. Little Red Corvette**

"Due to budget cuts, the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off." A faraway voice sounds in his ear.

"Thank you for your cooperation. Please don't forget to buckle your seatbelt." A raspy one continues as tiny, broken fragments of his life, literally, fly though his eyes.

All around him darkness looms. He feels small and lost as he keeps falling. One of his past mistakes blinks at him. An extremely unhappy memory leers. He was there the day Stephanie moved out of her shabby old apartment. He parked his car across the street. She'd been staying with Ranger. Her mother was very upset but she didn't give a damn. She didn't show up at their Friday family dinner. She wouldn't return calls. He sat in his car watching her put her bags into the shining black car. He felt like a stranger. His broken arm hurt. His heart bled a little. He stayed inside his car. He didn't get out. He didn't walk across the street. He didn't confront Ranger. Stephanie had made her choice. She was no longer a part of his life. The long and complicated history between them had come to an abrupt end. And it's not that he didn't want to start a new life on his own. It's just that these things take time and he was tired and feeling fragile. He was already somewhere in his middle to late thirties; it wouldn't be easy finding a suitable woman. He had standards. She had to fit certain qualifications. He had the right to be happy. He had to get over Stephanie. He had to fix his wounded pride. He was indeed good-looking. He had a lean, nice body. He was a normal healthy man. He had needs. He overheard people talking about Stephanie's engagement ring. His broken arm healed. The night was hot and he felt lonely. He needed to quench the raging fire inside him. He took off his clothes and reached toward his throbbing member. He wanted his physical pleasure to shut down the dull pain and burning jealousy. Then all of a sudden his hands started talking to him while holding his plus size penis hostage—

"Plus size? "His right hand snorts. "Plus size? Geez, Joe, are you kidding me?"

"It's all about size." One tiny voice observes.

"It's never about size." The second one whispers.

"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." The third one claims.

"Hey, don't blame your problems on me!" A fourth voice protests vigorously.

"Ah, the most important organ of a man's body." Says the scar in his brow.

"Phony." A nose hair giggles.

"Fake." Another one accuses.

"Overrated~" Everyone—expect for his pouting manhood—sings happily.

He's already dead. He wishes he can faint. The darkness slowly fades away. He starts hearing sounds. He falls upon something soft. He can't see in the dim light. He can't move a limb. He has lost his voice. Everything is quiet. So quiet. Too quiet. He thinks of all the things he did. He thinks of all the things he said. He starts feeling scared. All the tiny little voices have stopped.

His heart jumps.

 


	7. When Doves Cry

**7\. When Doves Cry**

He looks at his heart. A tiny, throbbing dot. He feels a great a wave of longing. He wants that red red heart. He wants to be alive. He wants to breathe. He wants to do all kinds of things. He wants to speak his mind. He wants to ask all the unasked questions. He wants the answers. He wants to live his dream.

"To be, or not to be..." A little voice whispers.

"Shall I com pare thee..." Another sings.

"To a summer's day..." A third sighs.

"To the fallen star..." A fourth murmurs.

"To the gazing sun..." A fifth mumbles.

"To the silver moon..." A sixth purrs.

"Cut that crap. You are already dead." The seventh interrupts. "We are already dead. Nothing's gonna change that. Life is not a joke."

"Death is not a farce!" The eighth protests."Ben Affleck ain't no Batman!"

"Ain't nobody got time for that shit." The ninth growls.

"Kill me now." The tenth complains."Just kill me now."

He blinks and suddenly can't remember his name. He had a name. He had a wish. He had words to say. He had remorse. He had regrets. He had ambitions. He had a temper. He had a place in society. He had an identity. He looks down and sees his empty hands. But now, he has nothing. Nothing. He wants that beating heart. He wants a second chance. He wants to prove and assert himself. He wants redemption. He wants to do it all over again. And this time, he will make no mistake. This time, he won't let her slip away. He will hold on tight. He won't close his watchful eyes. He will keep track of her every move. He will take note of her every step—

"Geez, man. Who the Hell do you think you are? The fucking NSA?" One of his  ** _boys_**  snorts while the other rolls his eyes.

He takes another step toward the jumping heart. He needs this chance. He will make things right. He will guard her like a hawk. He will show no mercy to the poachers. He will stand his ground. He will hold his head high. He will keep his hand on his gun belt. He will be ready to fight. It will be a battle of loyalty and honer. It will be a battle of life and death. He will win her back...

_Yeah, but you don't even remember her name._  A new voice sounds in his head.  _You don't even remember her face. You don't even remember why you are here. You no longer have a name. You are barely a ghost. You are caught in Limbo. You missed the ferry across the Styx. You are a memory. You are an echo. You are a shadow. You are not alive. You are already dead. You need to get up and catch the train. Or you will be trapped. Again. For who knows how long..._

He looks around wildly. The new voice disappears. The heart is still waiting. The heart is calling his name. He takes another step. And another. And another. And another...He feels the familiar warmth. He smells the familiar scents. The sounds. The lights. The promise. The happiness. The joy. He starts to laugh. Then everything turns dark and he feels the sharp, unbearable pain. He screams. He squirms. He is trapped. He is in so much pain. The world starts to fade away. He screams louder.

"Oh, crap." His eagle tattoo curses.

"Oh, no!" All his nose hairs, chest hairs and other body organs yell in chorus.

It's the last thing he hears.

 


	8. 8. Take On Me

**8\. Take on Me**

The pain stops and the silence is so loud that it frightens him. He can't see. He can't walk. He can't hear the sound he keeps making. He can barely sense. He can only feel. He didn't believe in reincarnation when he still a living human being. He never paid Karma much attention back then. He was Catholic but not a believer. He lived the way he wanted to live. He did have regrets and remorse. He hadn't said a prayer in years. He wasn't exactly an atheist. But sometimes he truly didn't think God existed. Sins and punishment. Repent. Confess. The summer he took advantage of Stephanie. The color of her clear curious eyes. Deep blue ocean. Cloudless sky. The blue cotton candy sold at the old Yankees Stadium. His childhood fantasy. His wild, wild dreams. The night he saw Ranger and Stephanie together. The blood rushing through his veins. His big, big mistake. He thought everything was going to be fine and she would always be there. He thought life would be simple, sweet, and easy and happiness would be a sure thing. But thing changed and changed ever so quickly.

He struggles closer to the warmth. He will remember these scents. He will remember this softness. He will never forget how safe he feels. He learns to follow his instincts. He vaguely remembers some other things. Sounds. Visions. Feelings. The harder he tries to recall, the quicker he forgets. They are of no importance. Not anymore. He yawns and soon falls asleep. He hears nothing when the woman standing near by the cage exclaims" Awwwww!" in a shrill voice. He doesn't even stir when one of his eager siblings crawls on top of him. He dreams on and twitches his ear in his sleep. He now has a brand new longing and an unyielding desire burning deep inside him. He forgets about all the tiny nasty voices. He finally and completely forgets who and what he used to be. He wakes up and once again suckles greedily. One day he will grow up, be healthy, and become all fluffy. He needs no answer. He needs no question. He may or may not be able to ask: "Why me?" For he's now a tiny Angora rabbit kit. All that he'd ever wanted. All that he'd ever needed. All that he'd thrown away. All that he'd lost. It's now nothing but a long away dream...

And one day all the tiny stubborn voices will come back to haunt him when they reincarnate into fleas.

**~The End~**


	9. Chapter 9

**Where Did The Snowman Go?**

**~Meanwhile in a faraway parallel universe~**

He stares into the mirror and the mirror stares back at him.

The house is so very very quiet.

He can hear his own breathing.

All is fair in love and war.

He smiles his most charming smile.

He starts shaving.

His hand never shakes.

In a low soft voice he starts singing:

"Shear the sheep and sell the wool.

Spin the wool and make a sweater.

Snow White.

Cinderella.

Rapunzel."

He thinks of the day Stephanie left him.

He thinks of the the reason why she couldn't love him.

Oh how much he loves his voice.

How much he hates this indifferent loneliness.

The sound of the universe.

The ring she didn't accept.

"Everything under the sun is vanity."

He stops singing.

He has finished shaving.

He lets out a soft short breath.

He looks into the mirror and the mirror smiles back at him.

Curly and dark.

Long and rough to the touch.

He collects all the hair on the bathroom floor.

He makes a sweater out of his own hair and tears.

Colorful.

Beautiful.

Fuzzy.

Joe.

Joseph.

Joseph Morelli.

Now chest hair free.

 


End file.
